Ever changing yet always the same
by asaneismRnuTs
Summary: Every now and again he will come into town. She never knows when but there's always room for Sam Winchester in Sarah Blake's life.


**Authors note** This is a first ladies and gentlemen! I mean for one thing it's been less than 2 months since I first got sucked into the Supernatural fandom! I know Jenny-come-lately anyone? But what can I say, now I'm here and I'm pretty much obsessed! The reason why this is a first is that this fic is the first I've EVER written that doesn't in some way centre around David Boreanaz! This time around my muse is the ever talented and EXSTREMLY hot: Jared Padalecki! Despite the fact that I absolutely love/lust after evil!Sam there's nothing of him in this fic – I did however draw a lot of inspiration from that certain scene from 'Heart'.

Oh and before anybody gathers up the angry mob and comes after me – _yes I know_ that only Dean is allowed to call Sam for Sammy, but call it creative freedom that I'm letting _him_ let someone else use that particular version of his name. Who knows maybe some day I'll even start using 'Samuel' too!! ;)

**Disclaimer** I own NOTHING! Trust me if I did I my apartment would be more that 40m2 big and I wouldn't have to take the bus and train back and forth to work! Sammy, Dean and Sarah all belong to Kripke and Co. The only thing that belongs to me is my overly active imagination.

**Paring**: Sam and Sarah (they just make sense to me!)

"**Ever changing yet always the same"**

It's been months since she last saw him when the call comes. She is not surprised though that he calls. She learned that it will happen at the most random moments. This time she had just applied the last coat of nail polish on her toenails. She had actually been thinking of him when she picked the colour. A shimmering metallic polish, which depending on the lightning changed from green to soft brown. She thinks it reminds her of his eyes, but like with everything else about him she is not sure if it's true or just something that just exists inside her own mind. For all she knows his eyes are really blue. That's the gist of him though. It's never just one thing. You cannot pin down Sam Winchester.

His phone call is short – he sounds tired – he will be coming into town for a day or two. No they are not hunting anything, per say, they just need a change of pace. She wonders who suggested this change of pace, Sam or Dean? She realizes it doesn't matter. What matters is that he will be here. She knows she shouldn't feel this way about a guy who by all intents and purposes is wrong for her, but she can't help it. He was the one who, once and for all, brought her out of her safe warm shell.

Her hair is a little longer now. She knows he notices, because he is like that. He sees the details. He has told her about Jessica and his mom and how they were both blonde. After that revelation Sarah makes a promise to herself that her hair will always stay that dark brown, it's her way of helping him keep the ghosts away. He has never said so in as many words, but the way he twirls a lock of her hair around his fingers as he holds her she knows is his way of showing he approves and that the help is welcomed.

He has new scars. Some aren't physical. The last time he called was when his father passed away. That time it wasn't to tell her he was stopping by. He just needed to hear her voice, to hear her talk about little things like the latest pieces they receive at the auction house or how she finally found the pair of shoes she had been looking for since the last time he saw her or about how she thinks about him when she's alone in her big bed. How she misses him and yet at the same time she is more happy during the day than she has been since her mother's death because she knows he's out there. Other scars are very physical. One of them looks like he's been in close contact with a branding iron. She doesn't ask about it though. That's not part of their _agreement. _She is his safe haven – no monsters in or under her bed.

He sends her infrequent postcards. Every one of them is a treasure to her and she guards them with all of her might. Sometimes they just have her name and address on them along with a simply "Sam" or "SW" – she knows that's when he is thinking of her, but doesn't have time or energy to write more. Other times there are short accounts of what he and Dean are you to. The cards help her keep track of where he is or at least where he was. Only once has he signed it "Sammy" – that one she treasures most of all.

She makes sure that it's never fresh new sheets on her bed when he comes by. He gets enough anonymous beds on his journey so her bed always smells like her. It's another one of those unspoken agreements.

Somehow he still tastes like innocence to her. Maybe it's a testament to his pure soul that he still has an air of innocence to his being. Maybe it's the guilt he carries around that ensures his innocence is not completely lost. She knows he feels guilty about taking her into the darkness with him. For having opened her eyes to the many dangers hidden to most. When he tries to shield her from it that's when her real nature shines through, she tells him off when he does that! It was what she did the first time around. She wouldn't let him tap fully into his _hero-brain-damage_, as she calls it. It was noble of him to try, but she's a big girl – she can choose for herself. She knows that her not letting him pull away from her is part of why he keeps coming back. When he's with her he can, if only for a day, pretend to be just a guy who doesn't see his girl a lot because of his job.

She never calls him. She has his number, but she doesn't use it. Sometimes she thinks about it, but she never does so. She never knows exactly what they are doing and for all she knows she'll be calling right at the moment he's finally just fallen asleep after a long hunt. No it's better that he says where and when. That doesn't mean that she won't taunt and tease him. She sends him emails instead. Some; just telling him about her day. Others; hold pictures and information about what she plans to do to him the next time she sees him. Never anything too bold or over the top. She knows she risks Dean looking over his shoulder so she just sends him glimpses. Patches of skin and fabric meant to please and tease and remind him that to some degree he does have a home.

When he shows up on her door step the rest of the world fades away. She can still hear the sound of the Impala pulling away when she closes the door behind him. It's another unspoken tradition – Dean's way of passing on the _responsibility_. Not that neither she nor Dean sees caring for Sam as a chore, it's just something that they both need to know is always done. He drops his jacket and bags, kicks off his boots and pulls off his socks by the door. She knows he won't put either of them on again until he has to leave. It's part of their ritual. Just like she will always make sure there is always food in the house that doesn't go into the microwave and Lucky Charms – always enough of those! She sees the kid in him when he finds the toy surprises. The little boy she know he never really was for long, but who is still hidden in there.

When he laughs she is pretty sure the world changes its course around its axis. It's one of her favourite sounds in the entire universe. It happens so infrequently, but when it does it's the purest form of joy. It's infectious too. If he starts laughing she will follow him within seconds. Quite often the source of laughter is him relaying tales about his and Dean's almost constant state of battle in pranks. She is an only child so she doesn't know from first hand experience how small acts of cruelty can translate into love between brothers. She does however share Sam's glee when he gets one up on Dean and sometimes she will even help him plot against his brother.

She will never fully understand his need to wear all those layers of clothing. Maybe it's his way of staying out of touch with the world. Of trying to shield himself both from pain – because the layers might serve as a makeshift armour – but also from whatever joys his body could bring him. They haven't made each other any promises. She knows he will meet other women and he knows she goes out and goes home with other men. They both understand and accept it. However whenever he calls she changes her plans to fit around him. Her friends tell her it's unhealthy, but she knows the truth – that this is what keeps her alive.

Inside her apartment he is not in need of anything but her. The last email she send him she had included a picture of her left shoulder and clavicle. She had been wearing a new nightdress of hers and the thin shoulder strap had been almost falling down to reveal even more of her olive skin to his hungry gaze. She had made the promise to him that she would wear the dress and that alone the next time he would see her and she always keep her promises to him. His hands are roaming over her body within moments of his arrival and with an equal need to feel him she starts to pull off his clothing. With, what turned out to be 3 layers of clothes having been removed from his body and him being left in just his jeans, of which she has also managed to get his belt and buttoned fly undone, she looks into his eyes and lead the way into her bedroom.

"Sarah… Please…" It's the first words he's spoken out loud since arriving. She crawls to the middle of her unmade bed and kneels there and opens her arms for him. He takes it for what it is; an invitation or maybe even demand for him to join her so he strips off the last remaining pieces of clothing – jeans and underwear gone in one smooth move. He moves to the bed in a way so graceful that she wonders how a man of his height can move like that? She is still _fully_ dressed as she crawls into his lap as he sits back on his haunches in front of her. Their initial make out session in her living room has left them both wanting more and she can feel his erection trying to find its way home almost as if on its own account.

She lifts her pelvic a little and as she sits back down she impales herself. Sitting like this they are face to face and eye to eye and she forces herself to keep her eyes open as he slides home. That way she can see him squeezing his eyes shot and his mouth falling open as he feels her wet heat engulf him completely. Carefully, maybe because he fears he might rip it, he lifts the dress from her body. This time around their joining is slow, drawn out and tender. Despite the fact that he towers over her in most other aspects of their time spend together in this coupling it feels like she is the one who is able to gather his entire being in her embrace. This is not just sex; it's lovemaking in its purest most condensed form. Afterwards the tables turn. He pulls her into his embrace and holds her. Fingers find and twirl a lock of her hair, until they both fall asleep. His much larger frame spooned around her body.

That is also how she wakes up later in the night, though the mood has change. Gone is the tender and almost reverent atmosphere. She knows that his hands can be deathly weapons when they have to. She has seen him tap into his fighting skills first hand, but she also knows that those same hands can touch her skin in such ways that belie that they are more often used to destroy than create – which is how he is touching her right now. He is already buried deep inside of her. Her backside held right flush to his front as he moves in and out of her slowly. He seems to have a fondness for this position, not that she can really blame him. He knows where to stroke and when to push to make her scream, so she does. She screams his name over and over again until she can't remember anything but his name and blacks out to the feeling of him finally letting himself go inside of her. They stay spooned together unsure who's shielding who and in reality it doesn't matter.

He sleeps for hours after that. She suspects that it is not their bedroom activities which have worn him out. She takes that time to get out her sketch book. She has tried to draw him from memory lately, but she is always uncertain that she gets it right. She draws studies of him. The curve of his hip. The way his fingers are curled around a corner of the sheet. How his hair falls over his forehead. The slant of his lips. Most of all she wants to draw his eyes. She has even gotten out her crayons to maybe finally get a better grasp of the colour scheme for future references, but even though she has spend hours just now looking into them their colour still escapes her. She ends up just making a colour scale ranging from blue to brown and scribbles down the words _"eye color?"_ as a note to herself to pay better attention.

She wakes him with a few soft kisses to his abs and as he stirs awake she takes him fully into her mouth. The taste of their shared passion still present. She knows this is not just for him. Despite their shared agreement of non-exclusivity he is the only one she does this to and for and she is the only one he lets do this. Afterwards they join each other in the shower taking turns washing the other. They both know the moment of parting is getting closer, but neither is feel sad.

This is what they have, stolen moments now and then. So when she lathers up his hair with shampoo and shapes it into various hairstyles they both laugh and it turns into a friendly wrestling match over who gets control over the showerhead.

He is fully dressed, save from socks and boots when she re-emerges from the bedroom dressed in the button up shirt he wore when he arrived the day before and a pair of lace panties. That is another thing they do whenever they meet up. She has already placed a new shirt she bought him inside his duffle bag to replace the one she is wearing right now – the one he will leave behind for her to have.

He has found her sketch book and is flipping through it as if it contained great works of art and not just her sketches. They both hear the characteristic sound of the Impala pull up outside the building. She has told Sam to tell Dean time and time again that he can come inside, but he never does. He never intrudes on his baby brother's haven. The sound however does make Sam put down the book and get up to put on his socks and boots.

The last thing he does before opening the door to leave is bend down and kiss her. It's not a kiss of _goodbye _but one of _till next time_ and as his hands find their way into the scrap of lace making up her panties she wriggles out of them and places them inside the pocket of his jeans. She stands by her window until she can't see or hear the car anymore. Then she turns to her living room and the abandoned sketch book. She can still feel the touch of his hands on her body and she feels a rush of heat to her core when she sees that he has added a note of his own to her quickly scribbled down words about his eye colour. It's so simple, direct and to the point. Yet, at the same time filled with all their many contrasts. She looks at the words over and over and knows that this means more than any grand gesture or declaration of love from any other man in the world.

"_All of the above _

_Sammy"_

The next day she will go out and get a frame to put the page of the book in. she has a new treasure.


End file.
